


The storms he causes

by fish_wifey



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Falling In Love, Friendship/Love, Getting Together, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, Kitsune, Light Angst, M/M, Magic and Science, Magical Realism, Secret Identity, family bonds, fox demon Konoha, fox powers and modern technology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 06:06:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9109885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fish_wifey/pseuds/fish_wifey
Summary: The Konoha family have always been closely connected to fox spirits and demons. Konoha's family has been in charge of protecting this side of Tokyo, and they do much less trickery in the modern times. The youngest generation of foxes in Konoha's life are closely bound to the new technology of the world, which they can bend to their will.It's when Konoha responds to Washio's texts one night that the magic inside of him burst out, reveals more than he would ever want to show. Although demons and spirits live in harmony with humans, Konoha never chose to tell his friends at school of his family's foxy ways. And while he's trying to get rid of a crush on his best friend, his fox side won't stay muted.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Last rarepair one shot of the year! I've dedicated so much time and love into rarepairs in the past 12 months, of which only a handful went on here. I want to work harder still, even if the rarest of pairs don't get a lot of readership. I firmly believe that if I can get even a few people to like this ship or make people who love them happy by creating content, it's worth writing.
> 
> Please note that I've taken huge liberties with fox demons in this. I've always had an interest in youkai and I love imagery of fox demons. I just went wild fantasy style and mixing in the manipulation of modern technology. This fic is not meant to be correct to kitsune folklore; I just wanted to have fun writing my own thing.
> 
> Plus I always wanted to write fox demon Konoha~ I have this headcanon that he's the only boy in his household and just surrounded by aunts and sisters :D he has a dad, too, but I mainly focus on his female family relations .v. I had a lot of fun thinking about his sisters and having them poke him every day about this boy he likes :D
> 
> Washio is just. god i love that boy so much. He's so awesome uvu

Akinori ran and ran. He ran up the hills, down the streets, took side alleys and shortcuts. He hopped on walls, sped across rooftops, created close encounters as he scared the avian life that rested high above. He ran while his lungs burned and his sides hurt, and the soles of his feet blacken from the dirt. Feeling the swoosh of air, the shift from afternoon to evening; he ran until the dark came without its many stars. The fumes of Tokyo and the millions of lights and the brightly coloured neon blocked out any other sun.

Akinori ran until his legs gave out in front of the shrine, and still he crept on, until the stairs gave way to pavement, and pavement to dirt and dirt to tatami mats and the holy halls of his ancestors. Out of breath, everything inside him on fire, Akinori didn’t run anymore, and knelt in front of his god, his great-great grandmother.

Not one bell could save him. Akinori could have possessed every 50 and 5 yen coin, but none would grant his wishes. He could ring the bells, create new ones and ring those, but the gods wouldn’t hear him. He prayed and prayed, but he could only hear the faint smirk of his ancestor before him, re-made in copper, as her heart was gold.

“Please,” Akinori begs, but the copper figure does not move. Each of her tails are as silent, and there’s no wind to cool the sweat on Akinori’s neck. He wouldn’t let himself sob, even though he knew there is no shame in crying. “Please, un-do this nonsense.”

Silence was all he got for his troubles. Hands useless and unneeded, drop to the floor in front of him and he bows his head. Akinori’s forehead is so close to the floor, while his teeth grind in pain. He’s never been this hurt before, so cut open and vulnerable. If not his feelings, he wished his great-great grandmother would just petrify his heart and be done with it. He’d rather not-

_**“Death is not made for one so young, my autumn child.”** _

Akinori’s fingers curl under his palms, and his fist hardens on the tatami floor. “Please,”

_**”You should rejoice! Dance! Create fires, move mountains, make the forest and it’s leaves whirl in the wind together. Love, true love, is such a joyous event. Celebrate-”** _

“I don’t want to love him! It’s hard enough as it is being what I am. Why can’t I just. I don’t, like girls! Why do I have to like HIM!?” Akinori yells to the ground, and it responds. The shake is so silent and unmoving that technology wouldn’t pick it up unless it had special sensors made by his kind. The ground reprimands, tuts, and shakes its head at the childish pulse it received.

_**“There is no why. Love has no reason, no reality, no ending. It just is, my child.”** _

The tears that welled up before fall from Akinori’s eyes when he looks up to face his ancestor. They roll over his lower lashes, across the red marks created by birth. His whiskers he keeps hidden, but each of his nine tails is tangling up behind him. The fox’s way of balling fists. His human ears made way for his fox ones, and the pointy ends are downtrodden.

The sheer champagne coloured soul of his great-great grandmother, the fox goddess and protector of the Konoha family, kneels in front of him, not touching his cheeks. The palms of her hand barely reach, but her warmth evaporates the tears that threaten to fall in front of him. She cannot touch him, just like all the other family members weren’t allowed to touch, or to even see Akinori before… It does nothing to Akinori’s throat, which is thick and struggling to swallow.

 _ **“The one you chose is a good person. His heart is true, and his spine unwavering. His hands are worthy of you, Aki. You can show him who you are, and he shall show what his truer side is.”**_ As if she spilled a secret, his ancestor presses her lips together, unable to hide the smirk. _**“You wouldn’t have fallen for someone who would hurt you, my love. I imposed a set of survival skills in my daughter’s genes, to survive the oncoming millennia. Our clan is well-protected-”**_

“But I don’t… It’s- I can’t just..!”

_**“Hush now, young fox. Your energy is fading. And, oh.”** _

His great-great grandmother looks behind him, and her soul dusts back into the coppery statue. Akinori hears it too, and wills his fox form to retreat inside his human flesh. The footsteps come closer, and he can barely make it over the low fence keeping prayers from the prayed-to. Akinori hides behind a huge vase with flowers, and he peeks behind to see the intruder.

This shrine is solely meant to be accessible to his clan and it’s sideways offspring, after all.

To his great dislike, Akinori recognizes the scent which enters. He can identify the silent step of the larger feet, and the carefulness of the hands which slide open the door to his great-great grandmother’s hall. His ancestor sniggers, an undertone of approval filtering through Akinori’s ears.

_**“And of course my beautiful great-great grandson would choose such a handsome boy.”** _

Her other spoken words ring through as a reminder. Love has no reason.

But Akinori had ran all the way here because of _him_ , the cause of all his trouble. All it took was one phone call.

 

*

 

*

 

*

 

_[Three hours earlier]_

Sighing, Akinori puts down Bokuto’s notes on Biology. They were a chaotic mess, full of arrows, underlined words, and exclamation marks. Not to mention the various doodles Bokuto seems to find time for while creating utter pandemonium in his notebooks. Putting out three of his nine tails, Akinori swings them once. The underside of his eyes redden, and his long fingernails come out. For a second he glows peachy-gold with hints of pinkish pearl, an aura of muted, pale pink frost sheen's over his skin and lights it up more. It takes only a second, but the shadow of his fox-form filters out on the wall, even after his aura vanishes.

When his true natures falls away, the notes fall back on his bed, ordered and neat. Gone are the random doodles, the colours; the notes are transformed to a clean, readable state. Smirking, Akinori folds the papers, now pleasing to his eyes, and starts reading again.

His phone beeps. Using one tail, Akinori makes it fly from his desk (full of books) to hover in front of his head. The tip of his tails touches the screen, and the person’s face who messaged him comes forward in a 3D model. Indulging himself for reasons unknown, Akinori’s tail swirls in delight seeing the hawkish features; Washio has a strong profile, and the twirl of his tail makes the 3D model appears sideways.

Then Akinori blinks, and the message Washio sent comes through the 3D model, in traditional kanji. Sighing, Akinori wishes away his sister’s powers; her love for ancient written text influences the modern words. He pushes away her aura, and reveals Washio’s own, modern-written words.

**I don’t understand a thing our ace is trying say.**

Laughing, Akinori leaves the phone and it’s message in the air using telekinesis, and takes the pieces of paper. Flat on both his palms, he blows them towards the phone, and the words, drawings and diagrams digitalize themselves, ready to transmit them to Washio.

“There you go.” Akinori says, and his words become an audio message below the send text file in the LINE app. After a moment, Washio sends a sticker. He’s clumsy using them, but Sarukui and Komi had given him a bunch of sticker sets as a present and he was too polite to refuse or not use them. One of the LINE characters, the bear Brown, gives Akinori a thumbs up.

**You rewrote it all? That’s amazing.**

Pride swells in Akinori’s chest, diminished by the fact that Washio thinks too highly of him, and that the credit is uncalled for. Not wanting to call more attention to it, Akinori changes subjects, leaving the notes for what they are next to his knee.

“Say, do you think we can perfect the new routine before Sunday? I want to use it in a match before we go to the qualifiers.” Akinori watches his words, a hint of minty breath, float towards the screen, and become another audio message. He notices only slightly how his tails multiply on their own. When he’s idle, they do it too, as if his will means nothing to his own body.

Washio’s next message takes too much time. Being bored doesn’t enter his mind, and Akinori lets his phone fly above his nose. He doesn’t think of entering his device and peeking into Washio’s, to preview the text he’s about to send.

When it finally arrives, it doesn’t even fit Akinori’s screen. A soft chuckle exits his mouth, and Akinori takes the phone out of mid-air, cradles it in his lap, and starts to read.

Seven tails twirl in a small excitement when he scrolls using his thumbs, and he notices mildly he’s hovering, and that his aura is coming through. He never liked his whiskers as part of his fox appearance, and so they’re the only thing Akinori wipes off his face.

Once he read the message of Washio’s probability chances and belief that they will finish the routine, Akinori’s thumbs move on their own. His long nails are out, and the rims of them glow reddish. He hears knocking on his door, which he locks with a flick of his eight tale. He dismisses the female voice, saying he’s doing something important.

Akinori wonders. Is he doing anything of importance? His head tilts to the side, eyes to the ceiling. His room has gone dark. He realizes he made all the lights in the house flicker, but his mind is too preoccupied with Washio’s words. His thumbs tick away at the screen. They go to a menu, select and option. Before all the vixens in the household get mad at him, he loosens his control over the lights, ensuring that only his room remains in a semi-dark, blue-ish dim light.

Akinori doesn’t know, nor care, why his room’s dim light differs from the usual. Somehow, it’s needed. What’s more important, his mind and all his nine tails tell him, is to take a good picture.

Then he blinks back into reality, dropping down on his bed. His breath fastens. Akinori’s eyes roll for a second, and then he stops his thumb from sending the picture he just took.

“Nine lives gone to hell, what the-“ Sweating, Akinori retreats his digital steps and undoes his work. He deletes the picture off his phone, off his memory. Throwing the phone back on the bed, he shakes his head and unmakes his fox appearance. As the dust leaves his skin, he feels cold sweat run down his shoulders and dampen his shirt. Akinori doesn’t understand what’s gotten into him, why he suddenly, without realizing what he was doing, was about to reveal his true identity to Washio.

His heart answers in a fast beat. It knocks against his chest, his ribcage. His aura flickers back to life, his ears and tails and nails return. He sharpens his teeth, and Akinori feels the full transformation of his eyes.

“Oh, no.” His voice changes too. “Hell no!” He jumps off the bed, but his feet –black, slender fox feet- do not touch the ground. Stumbling forward, he floats in mid-air. His throat constricts as if invisible hands try to murder him softly. His breathing grows faster, and there’s suddenly not enough oxygen in his room.

He’s burning up. The fires make the air grow thin. His windows melt first, then burst, and he can breathe once more. The knocking on his door is a rapid gunfire, drilling into his head. Akinori whirls his tails, and the wooden door becomes metal. Power surges, through his veins, out of his body. He makes everything that has power charge into him, and discharge. The neighborhood becomes dark , and it's his mother’s doing a few seconds later when all lights go on again.

All lights, cept his room.

“Akinori! Aki, stop!”

His arms spread, and his fingers point in different directions. His slender fox legs widen a little, and the nine tails stand up behind his back, warming his shirt until it rips. Akinori doesn’t breathe. He’s standing still in this one moment, this one realization edging into every pore, affecting the flow of his blood. He doesn’t feel his stomach. There’s a slight tingling in his toes, and it prickles his eyes, too. Where once was his window, he can see his own reflection, and what takes the breath out of him.

Hands larger than his, going over his throat. Thumbs fumble over the lines of his carotid artery without a press or malevolent touch. It’s caressing, he understands. He’s not choked, but cared for. Akinori’s eyes watch the figure as it parts his tails, a thing unheard of for his fox clan. No one touches any of the nine tails without sudden retribution. But this figure comes through like dew on a leaf, a softer thing Akinori had never known.

One of the hands goes over his stomach, removing the ripped shirt with ease. The other stays on his throat, warm and wanted. Akinori can see a face when he looks sideways away from the mirror-vision.

A strong nose, almost no eyebrows, and sleek hair, styled upwards to the sky. Eyes as dark as a forest pool at night, and a voice so rare that it rumbles like thunder. The blood in Akinori’s veins flows into one direction below his center, and shame heats his room up even more. He starts sweating, and the nose next to his face inhales deeply. 

It’s a vision of Akinori’s desire. The person behind him is not real. 

 

_No please, not him._

Opening his mouth, Akinori watches Washio Tatsuki, a vision his mind created, respond.

 

*

 

*

 

*

 

The vase trembles when Akinori’s hands do. He’d fled that scene before he could do the unthinkable and accept any of the things that had happened. He had jumped off the balcony of his room, unable to face his family in the state he put himself into. Now the real thing, the real Washio, stepped into the halls of his ancestor like he belongs here, and Akinori’s flesh burns all anew.

_**“Please don’t break that vase? A cute priest gave it to me so long ago-”** _

Akinori’s head snaps towards the copper statue, informally reprimanding the goddess, who shushes in a way only old vixen dames would do. Then his eyes are dead set on Washio, whose bare feet make no sound on the tatami mats. He comes forward to face the goddess, a Shinto kami in his eyes. Washio looks to the floor where Akinori had bowed, and his fingers do touch the tears that fell there.

“…All this sadness.”

Hiding out of sight behind the vase, Akinori presses his lips together, careful to make no sound.

“Is anyone still here? Hello?” Washio looks left and right, but neither side gives answer. Akinori closes his eyes, well hidden behind the vase. Good boys like Washio wouldn’t overstep their boundaries, or disrespect the kami. Unlike the foxes, whose top joy it is to break every rule humans created to bring order. Order is not something Akinori likes.

“...Strange.” Washio says to himself, making Akinori wonder if he always spoke this much to himself while he keeps silent in groups and towards others. He turns hence he came, closing the shrine door without a sound being made. 

Akinori sinks to his knees, not understanding why Washio had come here. The family shrine had its public and popular times, but during the night? Trying to block out his great-great grandmother’s laugh, Akinori begs her to at least spare him her ready comments. 

“If you’re not going to help me… letting this. Nonsense vanish.” Akinori says, stinky that his strongest family member won’t help him get rid of this heartache. Pressing his lips together, he can’t even think of anything more to say. Seeing Washio after the revelation of his heart has made him fragile, and the anger inside, set against himself, became even more hurtful.

_**”If you wish to keep lying to yourself, I cannot help you.”** _

 

Akinori doesn’t move from the shrine by way of using his feet. He teleports to the roof, needing cool air to cool his head. Deep into his own thoughts and trying to find a solution for his problem, he wonders if it’s his fate in life to suffer through. For now, he can’t see any other outcome but hurt if he chooses anything else but to keep silent about his feelings. Having his head in pain from the overthinking, he doesn’t notice the new presence until his second oldest sister hits his forehead.

“Ouch?”

Haruko smiles at him, ever the child of spring as she brings a fresh, warmer breeze. Behind her, Akinori can see flowers bloom where she walked. From the mildness of her hand slapping his head, he understands she’s the least upset and the most surprised. Thankfully, the second oldest sibling of the Konoha house has never been one to pry in other people’s businesses. Glad she doesn’t ask questions, Akinori looks down on his knees and waits for her to sit next to him. He braces himself.

“So?”

“So. Mother isn’t mad. The things you broke are already repaired, well most of it. Our cutest sister’s annoyance came from a mild disturbance in her sleep and you not there to read her back into it. Aunt Keiko and aunt Yayoi are drinking on your good health. They’re quite merry to have the first fox-man born in 67 years turn out to be gay. Mom says they have to help craft you unmeltable windows. No one asked questions or made a rude comment about that. Tonight you’re probably good to go without, given your eh. Thing.” Haruko ends her report, smiling brightly. Akinori cannot meet her eyes, and focuses on her long fingers. He interrupted her manicure. He doesn’t want to face his party aunts. They’d try to give him plum wine, or worse, love advice.

Haruko takes his reluctance to look up with a mild sigh. 

“Oh, little brother. You do know you can always talk to any of us about anything, I hope.” His sister implores him. He nods nonetheless, and allows her hand to ruffle through his locks. She smiles, and Akinori hears the closest dusky thrushes sing her name. 

“Then we’re good and I am not mad you made me spill my pudding. I’m getting yours, ne?”

“W-what? Hell no! I need it myself-” He jumps off the shrine and runs after her, not letting the near hundreds of colourful gerbera she blooms just for him stand in his way (although he’s careful not to step on a single one). Her laughter echoes from the flowers, which bloom from the grasses, nearby trees, and even from the pavement back to their home. 

Akinori blushes when he finds a few cut and bound back at the house. There’s a written card and a blank one. He crumples the first, mumbles about pestering sisters, and carries the flowers inside. He’s careful not to let the partying vixens know he’s back, and flies over the staircase back to his room. 

_”I wouldn’t tell you what to do in a lifetime, but it wouldn’t be bad to confess your love through flowers, would it? Thanks for the pudding!”_

 

*

 

*

 

*

 

Akinori doesn’t care if he’s obvious, but for an entire week, he manages to act as if Washio doesn’t exist. He doesn’t talk to him; hell, he doesn’t even give him a glance. Working together in a team is hard this week, but he powers through, not letting the strangeness in his heart get the better of him. Not talking to the rest of the team is nigh impossible, and he would let the strange occurrences in his private life filter through. He manages to stick to Komi and Sarukui, but keeps his voice level. Even when he scolds Bokuto, his voice tries to not have any attention drawn to him.

He wants to confess his sins and his love every damn day. 

 

*

 

*

 

*

 

At the end of the week, Akinori finds himself in bed, staring at a picture of Washio. While he’s sworn his sisters into decency, behaving and not disrupting, his cousins have been the worst and done the most shameless thing. They had haunted his school, caught a glimpse of Washio, and made one of the camera’s in the house spit out a picture. 

Akinori had found it waiting at the dinner table, and refused its existence of being there before sitting down on his chair. His aunts and one uncle kept drinking their plum wine merrily, while the ghost children sniggered in the walls. While his parents had been quiet, his sisters had no restraint to ask Akinori a thousand questions after a week of silence. Having eaten a quarter of his plate and a sip of his miso soup, Akinori had enough. Storming off the dinner table, Akinori had found the picture waiting on his pillow, knowing full well to blame his youngest sister, Ari. 

He has layn on his side, with his arm under his pillow ever since, staring at it. After some time went by and the clock changed from day to day, his mother entered his room.

She flops down behind his bed, and puts her arms over his shoulders and arms. 

“He looks quite handsome, that boy of yours.”

Akinori sulks. “He isn’t mine.”

“I forbade your cousins to tease you again. And your sisters, they only mean good and to show interest in your life. They love you, you know that, right?” 

Of course Akinori knew. “Sure. I’m their favourite brother after all.” 

His mother laughed, as she only birthed one son. Putting her hand on her arms, she made the weight on Akinori’s side dip his bed down. 

“Nanna said he was also very handsome in real life. What is his name?”

“Washio.”

“His real name, Aki.”

“...Tatsuki.”

His mother approves, seeing the kanji Akinori spoke float in fiery letters. One of the reasons Akinori avoided Washio was that every time he said the name, passion blew out of him. He couldn’t touch his phone as his fingers would betray him and create whole love letters, and every time he had to write something on the board, he had to use all his willpower not to confess to the whole class. His mother, prodding for all of these things to be known, sighs.

She rubs his head, and Akinori closes his eyes for once.

“Nanna also said you were quite sad. And the things you asked of her-”

“Mom, I don’t want to talk about that night.”

“Aki, my child. Your pain is my pain, you know that.”

He wanted to apologize, but she wouldn’t let him. “My sweet children. You have no idea how parents suffer when their kids suffer.” 

Akinori knew his own mother could make this stop. But of course asking would get him as far as the shrine visit did, and as his mother just said; she’d only be in pain about it. 

“Is it because he’s a boy?”

“He’s my teammate. My friend. I’ve known him for almost three years…”

“And what have I always told you about love relationships.” 

“That’s it's importan’ to be friends. Best friends.” Akinori’s mouth slips to sleepy, yet his hand won’t loosen the hold on the photograph to rub his eyes. His other arm has grown numb a long while ago. And he didn’t want to talk about this. Rolling in on himself and on his stomach, he makes that thought clear to his mother. She sighs even deeper, and leaves him alone. 

“Love will find a way Aki. And it’s dangerous the longer you wait. Desires… if kept hidden this deep and this caged-” She shakes her head, not finishing the sentence. “Tatsuki being a boy and a friend will be the least of your problems when they’re breaking out.” His mother laughed at how close ‘boy’ and ‘friend’ stood in the sentence, and giggled a few fireflies into life. All other lights in the room she dimmed, and she put a newly made, handwoven plaid over Akinori.

He never told his mother to stay out of this business, and so of course, the plaid smells like Washio.

 

*

 

*

 

*

 

Bokuto has a habit of pulling people in like a moth to the flame. He’s their sunshine-boy alright, and when their captain invites all of his team and bench members to get ice cream after practice, not many say no. He even extends his gratitude to the managers, of which Shirofuku is the first in line exclaiming her request.

Akinori hates to skip out on Bokuto treating, but Washio stands behind Sarukui, and is ready to go. Slipping past him to get to the center of attention isn’t an easy feat. Akinori fails miserably.

“Konoha, wait.” The voice is deep and near, making Akinori’s skin catch fire. He won’t allow his aura or his baser needs to surface, however. He turns a normal, human boy. Normal, human, and not letting his eyes focus on Washio’s eyes, his jawline, his ears-

“Let’s go!” Bokuto shouts out, making the whole group move towards the 7-Eleven closest to their school. Trying to catch up with the group is futile, as Washio’s hand clasps around Akinori’s wrist. 

“I asked you to wait. What’s wrong?” Washio asks, and the concern echoes the pity Akinori heard in the temple. He doesn’t want to be here. Doesn’t want to be himself. He’s been good all this time, working hard to get Washio off his mind and avoid situations in which they had to talk or be close. Being touched and directly talked to tortures him more than the nightly interferences of his desires and sexual needs. Washio’s fingers are right on his pulse.

Sweat runs down Akinori’s spine when he breaks free from Washio’s grip.

“Nothing’s wrong. What gives you the idea..?” Akinori manages a laugh. A bad, fake one. His feet are too unsteady to create distance. Partly because the fox in him doesn’t want to be further away from Washio. Quite unreasonable.

“...You’re not looking at me, for example.” The sadness in his voice is too much for Akinori, who waves it off as nothing important. ‘Streetlight’, he jokes. ‘Sore eyes’, he explains, walking after the group Bokuto leads. He gets as far as the next street lamp, when Washio’s longer legs catch up without a breath lost. He deflects any offense of acting strange, acts like he has no idea what Washio says or asks him about. He nearly trips running away from his problems, from his desire.

From the overwhelming instinct to kiss Washio and spill everything.

In the distance, Bokuto enters the supermarket, Shirofuku and Komi on his heels. There’s not enough ice cream in that entire store to cool down Akinori’s cheeks. He’s sick to the stomach because of the lies he empties out of his throat while swallowing the truths about his family line, the strong love he has in his heart, and the occurrences of one impossible evening where his blood boiled and want steamed out of his pores. The image of the made-up Washio kissing him in the place where once his mirror had been drills a headache in his skull.

And Washio won’t back off, firing questions between his heavier silences. He won’t even let Akinori enter the store where the rest of their team members are, and his hand has more force when he makes Akinori turn after touching his shoulder . 

The words were said, the questions deflected. What Akinori faces, rippling from the icy eyes to the rest of Washio’s face, is stone-cold marble made flesh upon human bones. Washio looks like a gargoyle, angry and miserable. He’s even handsomer when pissed off. It’s the last Akinori can handle, as all his bound break. Chaining his demon-self under even heavier locks, Akinori’s very human and fragile self is the only thing left for the already cracked wall he’s tried to built. 

“Are you deaf? I said nothing’s wrong. But it’s going to be if you don’t get off my ass!” He blinks up a storm, trying not to cry. Washio’s face doesn’t move, his eyes don’t blink. His jaw can’t even lock harder in place than it has. He’s never been more attractive or destructive to Akinori’s poor, arrow-pierced heart. The 7-Eleven’s sliding doors open and close, while neither of them dare to look.

“Senpai? Bokuto-san is asking for you…” Akaashi waves his ice cream cup, then hurries back outside, away from the disaster that appears to be Akinori’s life. Washio, rooted to the ground, doesn’t look anywhere but Akinori.

“...Tell Bokuto I’m not hungry.” Akinori manages to speak past the blockade of bile in his throat. Walks away without tripping, without turning, without stopping himself. His ears ring bells from his disappointed ancestors, the chime of his sisters chortling. He suffers his mother’s sighs, and his father’s understanding. Akinori ignores the vibration of his phone, but shuts it down with his mind to silence the device. 

It’s no use. As soon as he’s home, his siblings greet him in their half-fox form. Their tails twirl in the air, whipping out his phone and making it float. Giggling, the girls whirl their tails once more, and are aided by one of Akinori’s own more rebellious fox-tails. The fox-demon inside of him is too curious. The entire entrance hall is lit up by four holographic messages, previously hidden in Akinori’s phone. Barely one shoe off his feet, Akinori bites his tongue when these messages face him.

“My my, you know how to make an entrance and amuse your sisters, don’t you?” One of his aunts laughs from the unseen kitchen, and a volley of barking mad-women tune in, a mix of both high and low. Akinori’s sisters leave him, a pitied sight, alone to undo the shambles of his not-ready-to-bloom love life.

 

*

 

*

 

*

 

The flowers haven’t died two weeks after Haruko gave them to him. Not needing water or sun, they live and thrive whenever she sings in the shower. 

When Akinori hums to the music blasting through his headphones however, petals fall off. He notices that when he’s done reading his manga. His desk, a faded brown, has dots of colours flown across. Blinking, he looks at the gerbera, finding them in good health. Testing out a theory, he hums to the rock song his mp3-player changes to.

Petals fall, one by one. Humming louder, they fall more frequently. Although the petals re-grow right after, Akinori stops humming. Then he slams his manga volume on the desk, and groans. Haruko, who's never been insistent about anything, is actually giving him a hard time and sending signs. He has no idea what the meaning is exactly, and motions a finger to let his phone fly over to his desk. Tapping in morse code, he writes a message to his youngest sister, Akiko. Born two years after him in the same season, they had always been very close. Even though he was a boy, Akiko often came to him, more so than to her sisters. 

“What does gerbera mean in flower language?”

She texts back; a mix of kanji and hiragana float from the phone’s screen, melting into an image taken from the internet. Gerbera’s, their meaning and symbolism, as well as the differences in colour, mostly point to one thing: happiness. Akinori sighs, and the sound of his unhappiness makes the flowers swing in pity. 

Akiko sends another text, which transforms the music he’s playing into her own. Pop songs are Akinori’s guilty pleasure, but he banned them from his own devices. Akiko sometimes indulges his needs. This however, is strange.

“Ugh, this band, seriously?” Akinori groans, but leans back letting the catchy tunes of Coldplay calm his state of mind. ‘Up&up’ isn’t a love song, at least from what he can gather listening to the lyrics. His eyes closing, he falls back into his chair, breathing out anxiety and doubt. He survived these two weeks, and he thinks it’s alright to move on. Surely he can talk to Washio again next week, without feeling like his true nature will burst out the second he does.

His phone vibrates off the desk and into his face. Yelping, Akinori’s chair fails to be there under his body. He falls through his own floor, down to their special guest room directly beneath. It’s hard to breathe again, and he feels a deja-vu riling up his spine. 

From the corners of the room, metal whips lash around his throat and arms. The mass of them curve around his tails, making sure not all nine can spawn. He’s blinded by confusion, as his power is drained.

“Aki, Aki you have to stop.”

There’s commotion around him, right here in this room. It’s not like before, when he could lock the outside from seeing him. But there’s not much to be seen; his fox form and aura is subdued. He’s not changing, and no power seems to seep from within…

“Aki, my sweet, sweet boy. Reign yourself in, please.” It’s his mother’s voice, right in front of his face, but he can’t see her. His eyes are covered in a light blue veil. It burns his retinas. “Aki, my sweetling, you’re creating ghost lights. Can you stop them?”

He gasps, feeling the fire in his stomach. Will-o’-the fucking-wisps. It’s impossible. Akinori never dared to touch the dead. To have _hitodama_ , the human souls, create a path straight to him-

“Shit, no.” Akinori curses, trying to close his eyes. “Leave. Don’t come here.”

He feels the power of his oldest sister push his shoulders. Her metal containments multiply, enlarge, press onto him. Squeezing his own powers right out of his lungs. Breathes of fox-fire escape, and he lets his mother quell the energy. He forgets their names. They’re connected by blood, but he cannot for the life of him remember their names. He only thinks of Washio.

“Aki, if this is what you want-”

_want him here  
here here here_

_see me the way I am  
and all that I can do_

_Washio, Washio, Washio_

He whispers the name, softly. The blue lights in his eyes and outside on the streets light up and make the smallest sounds. Requesting, beckoning, unreasonably in love. The fires dance and wave, hoping to connect one line of contact.

“No, no no no!” He manages to close his eyes and kill the fires; they’re inside him, in this room, somewhere outside their house, somewhere near Washio. He blows them out one by one, and every single time it takes and takes his strength. Akinori has to drown them all out, before Washio can understand their meaning. 

“Don’t let him-” Akinori begs his mother. He feels the traces of his killed fires, the souls of the dead, his ancestors, returning to their rightful homes. 

“Shhh, shhh my son.” 

He’s about to faint, knowing his mother would let Washio faint too before the last of blue fires could reach it’s destination. They’re not allowed to mess with humans too much, and such intervention requires a sacrifice on their behalf. Two sides of the same coin, dropped into a wishing well that’s run out of power to grant any impossible prayers. Before he hits the ground, he hears his mother and his youngest sister converse.

“My poor, sweet child.”

“I’m sorry mom… I tried to-” 

 

*

 

*

 

*

 

Akinori wouldn’t later say that what happened came forth through natural occurrences, but that nature, quite literally, gave a push. 

The magnitude Tokyo experienced came close to an 8.2 and for the most part, the Konoha clan’s premonitions struck 15 minutes before the earthquake, and took precautions. Akinori’s youngest sister Akiko had been most in tune with nature, and so her vision and quick thinking ensured that most of Tokyo was safe and unharmed. It might have been mistake or design that his blood-own mother’s protective powers didn’t reach Fukuroudani academy. Either because she couldn’t, or because the mothers of their clan were born leaders, and hoped their sons would be warriors when the times needed them to be.

The youngest son of the family in question didn’t know any of that. When the quake hit, it was an action. 

And his reaction was just as earth shattering towards his soul.

 

*

 

*

 

*

 

They were in the middle of a practice set. The rally was one of the longest Akinori fought in, and sweat rolls down his cheek, off his chin. He yells, raises his hands. He’s at the net with a first year setter not fully fledged, while Akaashi and Bokuto ready for the block on the other side. The first year does his best, and Akinori does his run up. He feels good about this, even his feet don’t lift off in the way he thinks they should. 

The ground shakes. 

A ton of things happen at once. Akinori hears the coach, hears the call to safety. He hears how the earth becomes unruly, how the building around him should be safe enough. He feels the metal move below his feet, feels the heat rise and slumber. His neck prickles. 

Fright is not a good thing to feed your demons. 

“Shit, watch out! The roof’s-” 

Akinori doesn’t recognize the voice. His eyes look straight up, and he can see the crack. The epicenter of the earthquake is too close to home, too real for words. He sees the crack, can hear the crumble. Dust falls. On automatic, Akinori’s senses find his friends safe, but his love not. 

Washio stands right beneath the crack, and Akinori’s breath stops. 

When the roof cracks open, so do Akinori’s energy points. Lightning up on his back are three balls, filled with fire and divine energy. The change to his fox form is instant, and for once, the youngest Konoha son doesn’t care for his whiskers. He whirls mid air, where he’s been since he jumped for the ball that never came. He whirls, and his nine tails cause a storm inside the gym, harmless to any living being, but deadly to the roof that threatens to fall on Washio. The tiny whirlwind knocks it straight to the ground far away to harm any of the club members. 

Akinori’s black pawed feet touch the ground, and he wills Mother nature to calmth and serenity. He prays to the trees around him, and wishes for the rocks to stop moving. The quake stops, but Akinori’s aura remains. 

His nine tails blow in delight of making full use of their powers. Akinori’s heart does not. Washio has his hands up in the air, balled above his head. His rocksteady dark eyes look at Akinori, in his true form, and they do not blink. Akinori forgets again what oxygen is, then remembers. He wonders if it's possible to create enough fire to let everyone lose conscious by taking the air. A distraction. Akinori could run away, change names, create identities and passports, find another Inari shrine to call his home. But Washio’s eyes keep his fox feet grounded, not allowing him to move.

Akinori sees a metall-y, protective umbrella over Washio’s head, _not the making of a fox_ , and understands the powers of blocking came from within Washio himself. He hadn’t even needed to do anything at all. Washio would have been safe without Akinori’s interference. 

“Oh wooow, you look so cool.” To Akinori’s right, Komi walks forward, his eyes round. As much as he tries, Akinori cannot change back. The aura burns brighter, his tails move faster. His whirlwind cut the pole in half and the net lies forsaken, but nobody cares for the inanimate, when there’s a fox demon in their midst. Akinori lowers his ears, as if he could hide what he is.

But he’s blocked. Something’s stopping him from changing to his human form. 

“Konoha, what the hell, that was awesome!” Bokuto runs forward too, looking at the roof, the strewn rocks, where the whirlwind had been, where the pole had been once standing, and then to Akinori. He looks at him, up and down, taking in all the differences. 

Their coach checks on Washio, but Akinori knows that, of course, the coach knew about _his_ power. The umbrella above his head disappears when Washio’s fists unfurl. Washio, who finally comes out of his staring stupor, and walks towards Akinori.

Akinori still can’t move. He wants to run away as fast as he can. His feet aren’t rooted to the floor, but he feels a pressure all around. Komi and Bokuto are close enough to be picked up by his aura, and the dust makes a protective hardening case. But they don’t touch him. They’re too in awe with the pure golden peach light and the sandy swirls adorning Akinori like a second and third skin. He glows as bright as his oldest sister when she reached the top of her powers, and he feels as mighty as his grandmother, who could move mountains. He checks his hands, and while no difference to note there, he feels more energy in his fingertips. 

Then Washio’s palms come from beneath, and Akinori quite forgets what it feels like to be human. The hands take his, and when he looks up, Washio stares right into the deepest cave of his being, where all his secrets once have been hidden.

“You saved my life.”

“...What? N-no, I didn’t. I just. It was an reaction. I couldn’t.” He’s so flustered that speaking is too hard to manage. And Washio wouldn’t have needed his help anyway, he knows now. It’s a two-way knowledge exchange, as Akinori understands where the blockade on his feet and his transformation comes from. He feels the entire different power source, as it flows right between as the connection at the back of his hands and Washio’s palms solidifies. 

“You’re beautiful.” Washio whispers, and Akinori hears the echo. There’s an invisible wall between them and the other teammates. Washio is a rock, a mountain, a barrier. And Akinori cannot move him, only be moved by him. The mountain and the prophet, after all. “I wish you’d told me sooner…” 

“Damn, stop!” Akinori feels so trapped in his body and in his place that he creates another whirlwind, but it keeps contained in their space. It rises his hair, his clothes, while Washio seems unaffected. The whirlwind is not meant to hurt or to shove people away. Akinori has too much energy stored, and he needs to let it all out. He wants to scream, to cry, to hug Washio, to be held by him. There’s people, however, and Akinori cannot have a meltdown. He’s already shown too much of himself.

Sarukui comes to take Bokuto and Komi, while Akaashi handles the second and first years. The roof isn’t safe, until Washio takes a look, maybe. If Washio would look at anything besides Akinori, which he’s most unsuccessful in doing.

The palm on Akinori’s cheek is too soft for words, softer than a rock is allowed to be. He nuzzles it on instinct, shame set aside for how touch-starved he is. This had been his dream for weeks. The pad of Washio’s- _no_ , he stops himself. _Tatsuki_. His mind changes. Akinori nods to himself, nods right into the warm hand holding his face. Tatsuki’s thumb ingrains itself into Akinori’s memory, every ridge of the fingerprint. The rest of Tatsuki’s fingers lie splayed under his ear, too respectful to touch the pointed fox ears. 

“I’d stop if you want me too. You’ve called out to me though, since that time.”

Akinori remembers. The blackout he caused reach the Washio household, and even when he ran towards his ancestor’s shrine, he went by Tatsuki’s room. He’s forgotten, made himself delete the memory. Let it carry in the wind. Akinori the chicken, hiding behind a vase; that’s all there was. 

“I didn’t know if it was real. If you meant it to. To be me. My brothers warned me for fox demons. Said they were all the same. The ghost lights scared them, too.” 

Akinori hardly registers the insult of Tatsuki’s kin. He couldn’t give a care when his hand lay over Tatsuki’s own, encouraging the petting. He feels shameless. His invite was understood, and Tatsuki moves even closer. Akinori opens his eyes, knowing the form, the marks, the whiskers all to be there. Tatsuki still stares, as if he’d never look at anything else. It’s quite set in stone, this face, and Akinori’s heart too. He knows he has more than one life, and he wants them all to be spent with Tatsuki. When the mountain makes it final moves to the demon, Akinori closes his eyes and let’s his bottom lip be pulled down. 

Tatsuki’s lips make the oddest sound against his own, and both their lips dry out when Akinori breathes out fire and burns their breathes.


End file.
